Memories of the past
by pinksnow
Summary: Memories of the past are like shards of broken glass, touch them - and they cut..... Pairing OshiAto. Shounen ai. Spoliers none.


An OshiAto oneshot.

Disclaimer: PoT is not mine :D I can dream though!

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Memories of the past (are) like shards of broken glass, touch them - and they cut.

And today you are cutting yourself because you want to bleed.

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The relationship that you shared with him, if it could be even called that, was nothing special; it was something which had happened in the high school locker room, and then in his bedroom, and the study table in your own room. You were young and foolish…. But you had loved him.

And how.

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You had loved him till anything and everything that was you had come to belong to him, you had loved him like you had to no other, you had loved him till you had come to believe the illusion of reason for existence… and you know you cannot love anyone that way again, or anymore.  
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Even he fails to stir the same feelings in you as he stands across from you today.

But he does stir something deep inside, as to what it is, you have no clue.

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Promises are meant to be broken.

Sweet nothings are meant to disappear.

Your resolve was meant to be frayed.

Forever is, and will always be but a fleeting lie.

There was just no way that you could have stayed.

Or that is what you had been telling yourself all this time anyway. For God knows what reason a vague memory that had buried itself over time decided to surface again – you pick up the shard, and you cut yourself, invisible blood oozing out of the superficial wound as you remember.

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The last time you saw that face was two and a half years ago. About one week later was the last time you heard that voice.

It was the last week of high school, and he was the lone figure standing on the empty courts.  
By then whatever other than the obligatory captain-teammate association between you two was already over by mutual agreement. But you were still on talking terms with him…It was also at that exact moment you had come to realize, that even with you by his side, he had always been in a far off place, one not within your reach – and then and there you had felt a sharp jab in your chest.

Yes, for the first time in God knows how long you had felt like maybe, just maybe you could actually cry.

You had not felt this way when both you and he decided after the nth disagreement that the 'this', whatever it had been, was not working out and that it would indeed be in the best of both of your interests to part ways; you had not felt anything remotely close even as you had fucked his body, even as had desperately shielded his flushed face with a free hand, like he always did when he lost himself to you, with you watching the steady rise and fall of his chest, one last time.

Not that you had cried of course, though you had almost shied away from providing him company as he stood; but then you did do it anyway, lightly wrapping your arms around his shoulders from behind, standing with him in silence, trying to look into the distance at wherever he had been staring.

Because it was him, and because it was you.

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The last time you talked to him was to tell ( or rather inform ) him that you were leaving overseas for further studies; it was a phone conversation, simple and impersonal.

He wished you luck, and told you to keep in touch. You never did call him after that line disconnected, you never intended to right from the start.

The times when he called you were far and few to begin with.

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You have a new girlfriend now; you met her on your internship abroad, someone from your home country. With her you share the same love for English literature, takoyaki, and much more. And while you don't love her, you have come to grow quite fond of her company.

The fact that she has nice legs and is a good kisser also helps.

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Cut to the present.

Said girlfriend is rushing at least ten steps ahead of you ( obviously more eager and excited than you about the homecoming ), baggage and all in tow ; your feet feel like they are glued to the ground.

They refuse to move.

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Your flight landed about fifteen minutes ago, and now you are in the common reception area of the airport. And whoever could imagine that the first familiar face that you would happen to run into, after stepping foot on home turf, would be him?

She turns to wave at you, and she also stops in her step, seeing as you are engaged in what would seem to any ordinary person, a conversation of sorts, at the moment. Wherein reality, it is two people standing, just looking at each other, and thinking of what to say, but failing to come up with anything, and just failing in general.

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' Have you been well? '

' I'm fine. ' You answer.

His gaze follows to where your current better half is waiting.

' Looks like you found yourself someone cute. '

And you really don't know what to say to that.

For a second there you wonder if he is also shuffling through brittle, broken pieces, cutting himself searching for things left far behind; but you just can't tell... and you have no way of knowing.

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It seems like he is pressed for time; a mild bitterness fills you as your mind silently adds an _'As always. '_. Apparently his flight departs in another half an hour. You just murmur a polite ' I see. '.

He nods.

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Thats the end of that conversation.

( This time he does not ask you any details, he does not give you details concerning himself either as to where was he going, or when would he be back.

He did not inquire whether you were back for good, or if not, how short/long your stay would be - neither did he make a mention of keeping in touch. )

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And just before walking away, he lightly clasps your hand with his; your eyes go a little wide behind your glasses, his hand still fits in yours perfectly. And his hand is still smaller than yours.  
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An imprint of his palm is left on your own; you remember that imprint oh-so-well. Just like the imprint of his bare back against your equally bare chest, the imprint of his hair on your chin, or that of his thighs shifting against your hips... or the imprint of his lips on your lips

And you begin to think that you could do it all over again...

But then he disappears from view and you drop that train of thought as quickly as it came to you.

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And while you don't have any run-ins with him again, but then your eyes do sometimes seek his presence as you walk down the familiar path of old school, drive past the street tennis courts, which just seem so small over the years.

It's ironic how even though your mind decided to shut him out, your know that your consciousness will be wishing for one more last goodbye - now and always.

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Because that is the way a bond crumbles.

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**  
Owari**

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**A/N: **Hope you had a good read. If you liked it, do review! Thanks for reading.


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